We went inside and sat at the dining table.
The moment I did, everything else—zones, inspections, Pokémon counts, naval planning—vanished.
Grandma placed a steel bowl in front of me.
Hot pej (Rice porridge or gruel).
Simple. Pale. Steam rising gently, carrying that unmistakable smell of rice cooked slow and patient. The kind of food meant to settle storms inside the body.
I hated pej.
Always had.
Except when she made it.
I took one sip.
Then another.
By the third, I was done thinking.
The world narrowed down to bowl, spoon, and warmth spreading through my chest.
Even the Pokémon—who were usually picky, structured, and very opinionated about their meals—were eating quietly. Tropius drank it slowly. Mankey slurped without shame. Even Pikachu was licking the bowl when she thought no one was looking.
Halfway through, something jabbed my ribs.
I blinked.
Apoorv was elbowing me, eyes wide, silently asking What is going on here?
I lifted my head for the first time since sitting down.
Reality came crashing back.
I shoved another scoop of rice into my mouth and looked at my grandmother.
"Ajji," I said through a mouthful, "what is happening here? Why are there so many Pokémon? There isn't a zone here. And where is Ajoba(Grandpa)?"
She answered calmly.
"Well, they showed up one by one. We let them stay. As for your grandpa—he's at the sea. Making a round."
I spat out my pej water.
"WHAT?!"
Before I could say another word—
Twist.
My ear burned.
"Is this any way to eat?" she snapped. "Spitting everywhere. Talking so much during meals. Shut up and eat."
"Owww, ajji!" I yelped, clutching my ear. "But—but it's—"
She glared.
I surrendered instantly.
"…okay."
She clicked her tongue and sat down.
"He's just going to the sea. What's new about that? He's been doing it for more than sixty years. Don't worry about him—he has two Pokémon with him."
I froze mid-bite.
"…Two?"
She waved a hand dismissively. "Eat."
Then she leaned forward, eyes sharp in a way that made me feel twelve again.
"Tell me about you. I haven't heard from you since your streams stopped."
I sighed and focused on my bowl.
"I've been traveling Maharashtra," I said. "You know… your grandson is a big shot now. You shouldn't twist my ears."
Her hand rose again.
I covered both ears instantly. "Okay, okay—stop!"
She chuckled softly.
"We're very proud of you," she said. "Leader of an organization. Government backing. Big responsibilities."
Then her voice softened.
"But don't push yourself too hard, hmm?"
"I know, ajji."
I hesitated. "…So… are any of these Pokémon yours? You'll need to register them."
She smiled.
"Mine is with your grandpa," she said. "You can help register his and mine too, Mr. President of the Pokémon Department."
Apoorv choked on his water.
After we finished eating, she stood and gestured toward the door.
"Come. I'll introduce you properly."
The Backyard That Shouldn't Exist
The first Pokémon she pointed to was Tropius.
"It was flying around," she said casually. "Tried our mangoes. Fell in love. Very peaceful. Gives bananas."
She patted its side affectionately.
"I didn't know its real name. We call it Savali."
Savali lowered its head respectfully.
Then she pointed toward the trees.
"The monkeys—two types. Always fighting with each other. The ones like yours were peaceful from the beginning towards us. The others needed beating from Savali and your grandpa's Pokémon."
She sniffed. "Now they're obedient. They manage the trees. They still fight amongst each other."
I stared.
"That's… not how that's supposed to—"
"There are more in the backyard," she interrupted.
We walked.
And my brain short-circuited.
Cacnea clustered near the fence.
A full Bulbasaur family—Ivysaur clearly in charge.
Bounsweet rolling happily between plants.
A Slakoth family hanging lazily from branches.
I stepped farther out.
Rice fields.
Two Scyther.
Working.
Actually working.
Precision cuts.
Clean rows.
Perfect spacing.
"…What the f—"
I stopped myself halfway through the word.
I turned slowly to my grandmother.
"I've been traveling the state trying to convince people to cohabit with Pokémon," I said carefully. "And my own grandparents are already using them for farming and chores?"
She looked amused.
"Well," she said, "don't forget—you are our grandson. All your values come from somewhere."
She folded her arms.
"And your grandpa is just like you. Once he decides something, no one can stop him."
She sighed.
"He was about to call you, actually. He heard about breeding bases and wanted to turn this place into one."
My stomach dropped.
"He didn't want these Pokémon to lose their home."
I looked around again.
Suddenly, it all made sense.
"And," she continued, "your intelligence was wrong. There was an island zone near the coast."
I stiffened.
"But it was unstable. It sank."
My breath caught.
"Most of these Pokémon," she finished, "were rescued by your grandpa and me from there."
Silence wrapped around us.
I looked at the land.
At the Pokémon.
At the fields.
At the house.
At the balance that existed here long before policies, before departments, before systems.
I'd been planning zones.
My grandparents had been living the solution.
For the first time since becoming the head of the Pokémon Department, I felt something deeply humbling settle into my bones.
The future I was trying to build—
Had already been growing here, quietly, for months.
After that humbling moment, we slowly made our way back toward the house.
This time, I wasn't walking like an inspector or a department head.
I was walking like a grandson—pointing, explaining, answering questions that came not from curiosity alone, but from responsibility already assumed.
I started naming species.
"That one's Bulbasaur—Grass and Poison-type. Very good for soil health. Their vines can help with irrigation balance, and their spores enrich the land if you let them rest between cycles."
Grandma nodded seriously, like she was attending a briefing.
"Ivysaur is the leader," I continued. "Stronger vines, better control. Don't overwork it—rotation matters."
She hummed thoughtfully.
I moved on.
"Bounsweet produce fruit that's nutritious for both humans and Pokémon. But they need gentle handling. They respond badly to shouting."
She snorted. "Then they'll get along with me just fine."
I paused at the Slakoth family.
"They're… not lazy," I said carefully. "They just conserve energy. Best used for long-term tasks, not urgent ones."
"Like your uncle," she said instantly.
Apoorv choked back laughter.
I pulled out my phone and opened the Pokédex app.
"This will help track their health, register them officially, and—"
She waved a hand dismissively.
"No."
I blinked. "Ajji—"
"No," she repeated firmly. "Too many buttons. Too much glowing. You write."
I sighed.
Of course.
Old people and technology—some battles even Pokémon couldn't win.
So I grabbed a notebook.
And I wrote.
Care instructions.
Feeding notes.
Signs of stress.
Which Pokémon worked best together.
Which ones needed space.
Simple symbols instead of app icons.
Bulbasaur — farming, soil, vines
Bounsweet — fruit care, gentle handling
Cacnea — boundary control, pest deterrent
Slakoth — long tasks only
Scyther — precision cutting, field work
She watched closely, correcting me once or twice.
"That one likes shade more."
"That one doesn't eat after sunset."
I didn't argue.
Experience beat data here.
I was just finishing the last page when—
Thump.
I froze.
It hadn't been loud.
But it had been deliberate.
Another sound followed.
Tap. Tap.
I looked toward the window.
Outside, standing awkwardly near the door, was a Cufant.
Small.
Dusty.
Ears twitching nervously.
It raised its trunk.
Knock.
I stared.
Grandma leaned over, squinting.
"Oh," she said casually. Then turned to me. "Come. It's time for your grandpa to return."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then looked back at the Cufant—still waiting patiently, trunk lowered politely like it knew this was someone's house.
"…Ajji," I said slowly, "Is he also one of the pokemon here?"
She shrugged. "Yes."
I stepped toward the door, heart pounding with equal parts disbelief and awe.
Behind me, Apoorv muttered, "Bro… your family is insane."
I didn't disagree.
As we stepped outside, the sea breeze rolled in—salty, familiar, heavy with something ancient.
Somewhere beyond the trees, waves crashed.
And I realized—
I wasn't just visiting my grandparents.
I was standing at the intersection of instinct and structure.
Of tradition and future.
And whatever came next—
It was going to change how I saw everything.
__________________________
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